


Wait

by Skylark



Series: HSWC 2014 [11]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors, Discussion of canonical character death, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Non-Graphic Violence, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 02:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3272690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's on your chest, and for all her hissing, spitting ferocity, she's feather light.</p><p><a href="http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/18819.html?thread=3586435#cmt3586435">Prompt:</a> <i>"Remember when the Disciple sought out Darkleer for revenge, but when it came down to it, she let him go as well?"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voidofbreath (bmo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bmo/gifts).



> (If I tagged the wrong user as the recipient of this fic, I'm sorry!)

She's on your chest, and for all her hissing, spitting ferocity, she's feather light. Fifty-nine troll kilograms at most; almost certainly closer to 54, perhaps 54.5 if you were pressed to a firm conclusion. You lift more than that daily when you duel your robots and then rebuild them.

Her claws prick your skin where her hands are fisted in your clothing. Tendons and muscle stand out along her neck as she leans in close to your face and screams. It's without words—a primal roar. You don't recoil, because you have never recoiled from displays of strength. Doing so would be disrespectful.

Her eyes are wet with tears and very green. You remember both of those things from the last time you saw her, moments from her death at your hand. You spared her then. There was no way you could harm her; the very notion was ludicrous to you.

“I should kill you,” she's hissing.

“I wouldn't stop you,” you reply honestly. She rears back, surprised. For a moment you stare at each other.

“You wouldn't?” 

Again you tell her, “No.”

Her head cocks to the side. “Why not?”

You hesitate for a moment, the answer on the tip of your tongue. Her eyes narrow at your silence and her claws dig cruelly into your chest, and the word spills out: “Serendipity.”

Her slitted pupils flare.

“Not that I'm an expert on such matters,” you babble. You can feel your sweat pooling on your skin, dripping down your forearms and the back of your neck. “But I have spent a great deal of time studying ancient Alternian poems and literature, and I believe, based on that, that 'serendipity' is the appropriate name for what I am experiencing.”

Her posture has relaxed somewhat, but her sharp canines are still bared in a snarl. Her body's form is clean, athletic; no waste at all in her design. You wish you'd met under different circumstances.

“I loved him,” she tells you. The growl underlying her voice makes you shiver.

“Yes,” you answer her. “That much was clear. I would understand if you killed me out of revenge.”

She sits up, her claws pulling free of your flesh with bright marks of pain that only make you sweat more. She observes you for a long moment but says nothing.

“Perhaps you...also know the emotion of which I speak?” you offer. She snarls and you fall silent again. If she had a tail, it would be thrashing. She'd look good with one, you think. You could build her one, if you survived this.

In a blink she's in your face again. “I'll be back,” she snaps, before leaping out of your shattered window and back into the night.

You lie on the concrete floor for a long time afterwards, staring at the ceiling and feeling the coldness of your drying skin.

\--

She comes back now and again. Sometimes for shelter when there's a manhunt on; sometimes for no reason you can understand. She sits perched on a high stool, watching you work with narrowed eyes, and you leave her be.

Eventually she starts to ask questions, and once she starts she doesn't stop. What are you building, what is it for, don't you get tired lifting all that heavy stuff all day, do you really believe that what you did was right.

“I have always done as I was ordered,” you answer her. “I was born to serve.”

“So if I gave you an order, would you do it?”

You take a deep breath. “It is probable that I would have a difficult time refusing it.”

She sniffs. “Then I won't,” she says. “That's pawfully boring.”

\--

Weeks after that, she cocks her head at you in the way that's become familiar, and says, “A tail?”

“I think it would suit you,” you say.

“It would!” she says, and it's the first time you hear her laugh.


End file.
